


The Adventure of the Three Cigarettes

by the_noble_bachelorette84



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smoking, Smut, cigarette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_noble_bachelorette84/pseuds/the_noble_bachelorette84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly found the file lying on the work station Sherlock always favored. It looked like one that he had been working on rather intently quite recently. She really wanted to go home and relax, but felt like she should run the file by Baker Street, just in case Sherlock needed it. This decision of course, had nothing to do with simply wanting to see the detective. 	Of course not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Three Cigarettes

She didn’t know where he’d gotten them, but Sherlock laid on the sofa of 221B with a cigarette between his lips, several more in one hand, and a weather-worn silver Zippo in the other. He wasn’t supposed to be smoking. He was on a nicotine patch. Sometimes three at a time.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Mmm.” He grunted uninterestedly.  
“I’ve come by to drop this file off. You left it in the lab this afternoon. Thought it might be important to a case.”  
“If it had been so important, do you really think I would have left it behind?!” He griped, quite sharply. It startled Molly a bit.  
“I suppose not.”  
He barely let her finish. “Obviously not. So why have you really come by?” He said, the small orange glow bouncing up and down with the movement of his lips in the dim light of the sitting room. It was dusk, and the last rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the horizon, letting just enough light seep through the sheer treatments of the street-facing window to cast intense shadows on Sherlock’s severe and angular features.  
“I don’t know what you mean.” Molly said, sincerely confused.  
He sat up and placed the unlit contents of one hand on the nearby table. He took a final drag, removed the cigarette butt from between his perfect lips, and exhaled, “Don’t you?”  
Molly froze at the movements of the detective. He had such grace in his every movement that even an act that she had always found disgusting was suddenly sending blood racing to her face, ears, and other more private areas of her body. Smoking was a filthy, repulsive habit, but Sherlock smoking was one of the most erotic sights she’d ever seen.  
“Ehm, I truly don’t.” She said, awkwardly, but still stalwart in her stance. She had no idea where he was going with this.  
“You weren’t sent by one of my ‘handlers’ to make sure I’m not off the wagon again? My brother and my so-called best friend have been trying to find out, by any means they can, what I’ve been up to. It’s infuriating!” He snuffed the cigarette he’d been smoking in the ashtray on the table, and picked up another. “I’d always thought you were above such larceny, Molly Hooper. I thought you had too much self-respect. Apparently I was wrong. That’s a new sensation. I don’t much like it.”  
He placed the new cigarette between those lips and lit it with the silver Zippo. She couldn’t help but notice his face as he breathed the flame inward through the tobacco. His brows were slightly furrowed, she thought from the pleasure of this release. His lips slightly pursed around the “coffin nail” and his cheeks were concave from the intake of air and smoke, causing his cheekbones to stand out even more than normal.  
As he did this, Molly attempted to stand up for herself. “Listen to me now. Everyone is not trying to ruin your day, Sherlock. These people you’re accusing of subterfuge? They love you more than anyone else in the world, aside from maybe your parents! They don’t want you to end up in a ditch somewhere, overdosed and either dying or dead, for real, this time! I would have been HAPPY to check up on you for them, but I was not asked. This visit is purely to return the file. Terribly sorry to have offended you.”  
Sherlock had held in the smoke throughout her statement, and only exhaled when she was silent once more. He had a funny way of doing this. His lower lip protruded beyond his upper, and he blew the smoke up, not just out, as if he hoped a bit of it might linger in his nostrils for a while longer. This seemed to accentuate his jawline. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He dipped his head a bit so he could reach his hair. He tousled it with his right hand, in which he was also holding the cigarette between index and middle finger. He brought his hand back to his mouth and took another long drag, knitting his eyebrows once more. He held it in for a few seconds then exhaled as he spoke, “I suppose your statement has some validity. But I’m having difficulty processing that claim that they love me. I can’t imagine anyone foolish enough to have such affection for such an old bastard as myself.” He flicked some ash from the embers in his hand into the round glass ashtray. He grimaced a bit at the object as if it had spat some of the ash back at him.  
“There’s no need to insult me. Just because you think I’m a fool doesn’t mean you should say it out loud like that.” Molly said, hurt.  
“I said nothing of the sort.” Always just this side of oblivion, Sherlock once again missed the entire point.  
“You said only a fool could love you. How does that not apply to me?”  
“Molly, you don’t love me. You have a crush. An infatuation. It’s a phase that will pass as soon as you’ve found out the wrong horrible fact about me that will turn you off more than my looks and broody intelligence turn you on.” His cigarette was nestled deep between his index and middle finger. He followed up the irritated statement by taking his longest drag yet and exhaling through both his mouth and nose. He looked a bit like a dragon, and she didn’t know why, but it made him even sexier.  
“Sherlock. What am I? Am I a child? Am I an adolescent? Am I a hormonal teenager? No, thank you very much! I’m a grown, adult WOMAN! And I like to think that I know my own mind and heart a damn sight better than anyone else, including, as hard as it is for you to hear, the great Sherlock Holmes. So although you may be incapable of love, or at least loving ME, don’t think for one second that you’re unlovable. Because if I haven’t proven to you yet how much I truly care for you, I’m not sure what else I could do.” Molly stated, with the exhaustion of a mother having to explain to her child for the hundredth time why he must wear pyjamas to bed, and not his Spider-Man costume.  
She turned to walk back out of the flat.  
“Molly wait.” Sherlock said quietly, almost pleadingly.  
She just turned around, needing to say nothing. Her eyes portraying all the fatigue and frustration he made her feel, even as much as she loved him. Of course the love and the desire were there too, but somehow under the surface. Sherlock snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray and exhaled the drag she didn’t see him take. He stood from his seat on the couch, and had crossed the room in three long, slow strides.  
He rested a long, slender hand on each of her dainty shoulders. Molly was not encouraged by the gesture. “I…this kind of thing…it doesn’t come easily to me. I usually don’t trust people enough to get to know them, and in turn, typically don’t get to know anyone well enough to love them. I know how impossible to get along with I can be, and it bothers most people that I have no desire to change that. Your acceptance means a lot more to me than I can say. You’re so rare, Molly Hooper.” He bent to kiss her on the forehead, lingering a bit longer than was customary. He let his arms follow the gentle line of her slender arms and around her slim, but still slightly curvy waist. He hugged her snuggly, resting his chin on top of her head.  
Right now, she didn’t care what his intentions were, or what game he might be playing with her. It felt so natural, so right to be nestled against him this way. Her arms rested on his shoulder blades, fitting perfectly along their curvature. She sighed contently at this still chaste, but intensely intimate embrace they were in. She nuzzled into his chest a bit more, happy grin on her face. Yes, this was all she would ever ask of the detective. Even if she longed for more.  
She felt his arms tighten around her a bit, in an attempt to break the hug, but he kept her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for being a true friend to me. I’ve never had many, but I’m truly thankful for the ones I have.”  
What happened next was a bit of a blur.  
It started when Sherlock bent to kiss Molly’s right cheek, but she attempted to give him her left, causing their lips to meet somewhere in the middle. They both gasped, looked into each other’s eyes, at the comically close distance of a liplock, paused a moment, and tilted their heads into the most passionate kiss she’d ever received. His lips and tongue never rested, never paused, and never relented. The heavy flavor of tobacco enveloped her mouth as his tongue explored. She never liked that taste, but now, for the first time, she considered taking up the habit just so she could think of this moment with every puff. She wouldn’t, of course, but the thought had crossed her mind. She caught a light sweet scotch flavor hidden beneath the tobacco, and searched his mouth for more.  
She wove her fingers into his hair and he whimpered, intensifying his efforts. They could have stood there into the small hours just snogging away, but after a few moments, Sherlock broke away, and rested his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, and allowing them both to catch their breath.  
“Come here!” he took her by the hand and pulled her down a hallway off the sitting room into what she knew was his bedroom. He flipped a lamp on, slung his dressing gown across the back of a chair in the corner, and climbed gracefully to the middle of his bed. He patted the sheet next to him.  
“Join me?” it was a question, not at all a command. She slid off her flats, shrugged off her cardigan, and laid down next to him. He just looked at her for a few moments as if he were trying to deduce something about her, or trying to memorize every pore and crevice in her pale face.  
He leaned into her, capturing her chin in one hand, and pressing his lips against hers. The kiss became more than just mouth on mouth. Molly’s hips sought friction against Sherlock. Sherlock ran his hand along Molly’s body, squeezing at strategic intervals. He swung a leg over her, knelt around her thighs, and held her wrists to the bed in a playful exhibition of dominance. He hardened his kiss and ground his hips into her ever-warming, still clothed flesh. Molly’s heart was racing. She half expected to wake up. Sherlock moved his lips and tongue down her jawline and neck, planting open-mouthed kisses all over.  
“Oh God! Sherlock!” she had poetry in her heart! Lines and lines of epic verse that would make the poets of old cover their faces in shame and hide their own work as a child tries to hide a grievous mistake. But these borderline non-verbal retorts were all she could manage with his lips and tongue dancing across her soft skin.  
“Molly, may I have you?” he asked, knowing the answer, but taking no chances.  
“Please Sherlock! I need you desperately!” she caressed his handsome face that was so classically assembled he looked as though he stepped out of an Austin novel.  
He unbuttoned her blouse, which was grey with little magenta polka-dots on it. It was very loose fitting, and the fabric was thick enough to forgive the absence of a bra. Sherlock was scandalized to see the undergarment missing, but only briefly. He was almost giddy, which she’d never seen him before. It was real. Not acting. Not playing a part for a case.  
He untucked the blouse from her navy blue slacks and continued the process on her bottoms. The knickers he found were much edgier than he would have expected. Maybe sexier was a better word. They were red with black lace overlay. They laced up like a corset at either hip bone with black ribbon. If he’d have had to guess the kind of underpants Molly wore, he would have guessed white or pale colored cotton numbers. No frills. She constantly surprised him.  
“Oh, I like these very much, darling!” He said, tugging the slacks from her hips and legs, and tossing them to the floor. He moved back up her legs, kissing and licking until he got to her hips. He grasped the panties and slid them painfully slowly down the length of her small, toned legs. He looked at the apex of her thighs, planning the best course of action.  
“You don’t need to worry with oral.” Molly said, matter-of-factly.  
“Oh, erm, wha--, don’t you need…ya know?” Sherlock stuttered.  
“Nope! Watching you smoke your cigarettes was foreplay enough!”  
He hastened to unfasten and remove his clothes. He reached into his bedside table for a condom. He opened the foil and rolled the contents onto his length.  
Molly was writhing beneath him, growing ever more impatient. “Oh, I need you inside me, Sherlock!” Her actions were making him harder and harder. He opened her to him and thrust into her in one slow, fluid movement. Their hips moved together in perfect unison, taking almost no time to find the others stride, and meet it thrust for thrust. He impressively brought her tantalizingly close to climax, held back, and then did it all over again. The third time through, Molly exclaimed, “Oh, fuck! Sherlock! Please! Let me come! I’m dying!”  
He gave a low chuckle and into her ear whispered, “Your wish.” In seconds, they both came together, groaning out each other’s names.  
She didn’t know what this meant, but she wasn’t about to start talking about it right now. She rode out her afterglow, content to be here right now with her perfection, and worry about holding onto him when the time came.


End file.
